


Warmth

by wanderingsmith



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on Jack's thoughts behind the first tent scene</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> AN: It just didn't make sense to me, had to work through and give it a reasoning.
> 
> originally meant to switch to Ennis' POV for the second half.. but Jack wanted his full say.. chattery lad, he is.
> 
> This is strictly my interpretation of the movie, not using the book, so yes, if it *could* have happened within the boundaries of the dark spots not on camera.. I might have used it to play with. sue me.

Jack's mind was fogged with sleep and dislocated with the alcohol sloshing his system, but he still thought this might be a better waking than most he'd had.

He was used to being chilled. Had nineteen years of waking miserable; and hell, enough of those waking with a stiff dick too.

But the block of furnace-heat along the half of his body laying on the hard ground; that, he wasn't used to. Nor the warm knuckles that had, at some point, appeared in his lower back.

Damn but he was sick of coldness. And the usual arousal was nothing compared to the live wire that was running between those knuckles and his balls. Took only a few seconds to realize that half that pimplin' skin was 'cause those rough bits of bone were part of a fist gripping his jeans and holding them away, letting the damned air at his hide. But they also took him back to the one good thing in his current life.

Ennis.

The quiet, sad, tough blond cowboy who was actually starting to smile. At Jack, even.

'Ain't had the opportunity.'

And flirt; the words and those eyes... Every instinct Jack had said he wasn't the only one feeling this damn pull at his guts. But he also reckoned he was getting to know Ennis Del Mar enough to know the man was either stubbornly unaware of it, or would deny it 'till the damn woollies all flew away on gossamer wings. There was less give in the 19-year-old than in most men twice that age that Jack knew.

When he was awake and sober, leastwise.

And yet, here he was; possessively gripping Jack's clothes in his sleep. Had to mean that *somewhere* behind that closed-off facade, there was something more, something deeper, to those furtive glances Jack had caught his friend shooting him after a few drinks.

Hell with it; his mind might be muzzy-tired, but the rest of his body was fucking cold and he knew damn well the other man had to be too.

Jack sluggishly wrestled a hand free of the blankets, every move rubbing those knuckles on his happy skin like a caress.

When he finally got free, he fumbled behind him, momentarily wondering what he might grab, other than a hand. Ha, gotcha. Damn, even his *hand* was hot, how did he manage that?

As soon as Jack pulled, those other knuckles shifted, becoming a palm, hot and flat against his spine. Then the body at his back more than willingly rolled, coming up to wrap him in warmth.

If he hadn't been so damn hard, his whole lower body tense and aching, he might have resisted the need and settled for that suddenly cozy closeness; set that hand on his chest and gone back to sleep a warm, content man.

There'd be times in the dark years to come that he'd wonder what might have happened if he hadn't pushed them so early on.

But right then, that hot hand, rough and calloused, controlled power, was in his grip, and his cock was *right there*, aching all the more at the new physical contact and with the generous heat that dismissed the nasty, joint-hurting cold from his poor body.

Just a touch to lull himself to sleep with; he just wanted touch...

He hardly had time to enjoy even the thought that that hand was resting on him when the fingers flexed. And his body was stretching into their beautiful glow, pleasure sparking through him at the stroke; at knowing *who* was palming him. Jack buried his face in his pitiful excuse for a pillow; half to be quiet, half because it twisted him into tighter contact, feeling Ennis' warm breath on his neck and a stiff column against his ass, all making muscles clench that.. he wished wouldn't.

Guess that was it; die was cast, last stone kicked from the shaky outline of a foundation their world had tried to lay for his life. He wanted a *man*, wanted Ennis; fucking *inside* him.

The hazy realization was enough to fully wake Jack even before he felt the body around him stiffen. He hardly had time to assimilate either the acknowledgement of his needs or the risk he'd taken, putting his dick under the hand of the mountain of uncoiling muscle now jerking away from him.

Instinct was all that could react to the burst of adrenaline. Get up get up get free. Don't fucking let him go or-

There was danger in the larger man, especially drunk and furious; but Jack had never feared him. No more than the frisky mare that *could* hurt him by throwing him. He just *knew* neither of them actually wanted him harm. And grabbing at the man's coat, Jack knew that if Ennis threw a few punches at him right now, he could damn well take care of himself. But if the man ran, he'd never let Jack close again. Jack'd lose the closest friend he'd had and.. this other feeling that ran roughshod through his guts. And he didn't need anyone to tell him that that kind of connection to another human being was precious; had to be.

-And maybe Ennis didn't either.

God! Could he really feel it too?? Jack stopped fighting to grasp the heavy canvas material when he realized his friend wasn't trying to run. Was holding one of Jack's wrists away, yes, but only gently; and allowing Jack's other fistful of jacket. Was watching him with a drunken mix of confusion and.. yeah, that was desire, and it was focused on Jack; not just memories of a good dream. Oh Christ yeah, Ennis! You want this too, want *me*! That was enough to send exhilaration through him, more than enough to make the aching need deep inside ratchet tight.

Maybe it was against his will, against the image of himself, obviously so much more strongly set than Jack's, but Ennis wanted this. Enough to lean towards Jack all on his own, dark eyes staring at his lips.

The alcohol fog was long since shoved far back under the adrenaline, and Jack knew what he was doing; what he- *they* wanted. The hazy, half-denied dreams; the knowledge gleaned from listening to years of people's sneers and hate-spawned innuendo, combined with being raised on a farm. And he knew Ennis had to have the same understanding.

He let go, silent, aware of the quiet man's currently lowered startle point, their eyes the only thing still linking them as he started to wrestle his jacket off, their foreheads coming to rest on each other without fight.

"What'r you doin'."

That gravelly voice burned down his spine like hard liquor, pooling low and stiffening his already fucking throbbing dick. It wasn't a question; Jack could damn well see that the confusion had passed, fancied he could smell the musk of hunger from the other man, wanted to reach down and wrap his hand around that hard cock that had so briefly rocked against him; wanted- too many things. But there was still denial, even as Ennis' head tilted, fractionally -maybe unwillingly-, reaching for the same kiss Jack had tried to ease into, keeping their faces as close as he could.

Finally free of his too-confining coat, Jack reached up, eager to touch, eager- only to see that furious panic peek through again, getting his reaching arms knocked back.

Damn! Easy! He swung his arms back up, grappling for a hold. Easy, Ennis, take it easy, boy.

The grips the man suddenly had on the back of his collar were steel-hard, pulling at his hair and still telegraphing stubborn fear, but Jack only tried to break them once, giving in and accepting the pain as worth Ennis seeming calmer with the controlling touch. He wasn't attacking; wasn't even shoving Jack away. Didn't fight anymore when Jack got his hands on his cheeks and jerked their faces back together.

That's it, it's alright, it's OK, it's just me, look at me, cowboy. Ennis' grip loosened, for a second almost caressing, before his tension flashed back and the hand fisted, tugging Jack's hair again.

But tugging him *closer*, not away, their breath as quick one as the other. Mouth still resisting contact, but accepting Jack's hands stroking his stubbled cheeks, so close he could feel Ennis' breath on his lips.

Fine, no kissing, no lovemaking; wasn't what he needed most, anyway. Wasn't what the clenched stillness in the other man demanded.

Jack dropped one hand down to undo his buckle; clink of metal in the air mingling with the sound of their panting. Ennis crouching unmoving, hands flexing in place until Jack had his belt loose and shifted a leg to the side, starting to turn with a grab at Ennis' bicep to bring him along. Not botherin' to deny the arousal he felt in the knowledge that it was the last control he'd have. On all fours, hearing behind him the sudden hurried crinkle of fabric being jerked around, then Ennis' belt tinkling release, Jack worked his zipper down quickly, delirious with need that hardly felt the fear when Ennis roughly shoved the thick material over his ass.

His breath jammed and he reflexively braced his hands on the mess of blankets at the first blunt touch. Shocking point of heat and then, through the blood rushing in his ears, sound of spitting, only half understood, before- Oh *fuck*! That fucking *hurt*. Too late to call a halt even if he wanted to though. Remember that first bull-ride, Jack? Agony right where a boy don't never want it, just 'cause he hadn't been ready. Pride the only thing keeping him on; like Ennis' gasp of almost shocked pleasure now, momentary clarity of pure, sweet sound, and that desperate grip on the back of his shirt. Just *relax* and fucking hang on.

And then a second of pleasure among the rough pain, jolting him. You can stand this Jack, you fucking *want* this, boy; remember the wild joy of that *second* ride? This can be good, you *know* it can.

He got a hand around his half-softened dick, pumping in time with the man fucking him, knowing his body wouldn't fight his practised touch long; not with the way he damn well wanted this.

Ennis' head coming to rest between his shoulder blades, whole-body furnace-heat once again surrounding him, breath hot and ragged as he thrust; almost gently, considering his earlier desperation. Ennis. *In* you; touching, holding and needing this as much as you do. Being as gentle with him as Jack reckoned the orphaned ranch-hand knew how to be.

Cowboy's soft laughter making you shiver; remember that? Fucking beautiful naked body in the bright sun; Jack trying so hard not to look at him, corners of the eyes drawn inexorably.

No longer having to deny the fucking *attraction* he'd been feeling so long!

The pain faded from his mind -just one more in a long line-, sharp arousal taking its place, rocking his hips back to meet those thrusts, looking for more of that hidden pleasure. Christ.. shaking his head; clenching his teeth wasn't enough to contain the mind-fuck at the confirmation that those damn people didn't know *shit*. He wasn't crazy, this felt *good*. Just a little more and-

Gods! Never mind the soft laughter. Ennis' grunt of ecstasy in Jack's ear; that was worth anything right there.

He was so fucking close, just a little- his lover's heavy weight dropped on his back, still gripping his shirt. His other hand dropping besides Jack was reassuring, but nothing compared to how fucking *good* his cock gliding so easy out a' him felt. Hand letting go of himself to grab Ennis' wrist, Jack held him tightly, rocking back hard against him -oh gods that felt good-, taking *Ennis'* still-just-hard-enough dick back in right where- yeah, he was there, gods yes! Moaning with the pleasure as he shot on the damned mess of beddings; body twisting with the wracking shudders, Ennis' hand under his a hot anchor to reality.

His arm muscles seemed to dissolve, turning shaky and then outright collapsing him to the hard ground, out of breath but so damn content with the heavy man-weight holding him down. He could breathe well enough, and he was warm; and *Ennis* breathed on his nape. Relaxed on his body. *In* his body, Christ almighty.

He wanted to flail at the re-descending haze of alcohol that he felt surround him about the time Ennis' breathing changed to sleep-purry. No! I just want to stay here, feeling *this*; forever...


End file.
